


through the valley, over the mountain

by celluloid



Series: ið [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Developing Friendships, Gen, Mention of Suicide Attempt, Post-The Incredible Hulk (2008), Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 23:19:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14579823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celluloid/pseuds/celluloid
Summary: The man squints at him, like he can’t tell if he’s serious. Bruce squares his jaw - at least, he thinks he does - and levels back an unflinching gaze. The man returns it, then shrugs. “I am Thor,” he says, “son of Odin.”It takes every fibre of Bruce’s conviction to not bark out a laugh then and there. “Like the Norse god,” he says, flatly.Thor, son of Odin, cocks his head at him. “I am a god, yes.”“Oh dear god,” Bruce mutters to himself when he realizes the guy is being serious.





	through the valley, over the mountain

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, after seeing Infinity War, what better time to go back to the start of the series?
> 
> Trying something new-ish out. Except apparently I'm all about Bruce and Thor hanging out now, so starting in a familiar place for me.

It’s just thunder.

An abnormally loud clap of thunder.

And sure, sometimes thunder isn’t accompanied by rain. It’s perfectly natural that Bruce can’t hear the familiar pitter patter off of his roof. Nevermind that he isn’t even in the townsite, he’s still in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, where the sounds of nature are truly amplified around him and often are the only things he hears all day as he keeps to himself.

Yes, he knows the closest people he can possibly consider to be his neighbours in Bella Coola think he’s weird, a recluse with a seldom-used, rusty voice, but he isn’t here to make friends. He’s here to stay out of people’s way and figure out how to turn this… thing that’s inside him, that he is, into something he can control. He did it once before, in Harlem. He just has to master it.

So he’ll be the odd weirdo in the valley, the one where he can hear every sound of nature where there is no rain to accompany the thunder. The solitary thunder clap that is definitely not normal. And he’d prefer to use the repetitive sound of rain to calm himself down, smooth out his heartbeat, but… just the one thunder clap with an abnormal lightning blast he caught from behind his eyelids and…

Bruce looks to his bedside, where the bright green numbers on the digital clock shine back in a cruel mockery of his current eye colour. Three in the morning. No precipitation in the forecast. And that was most definitely not a mechanical crash, that was thunder.

Maybe he’s dreaming. He should go back to bed. This won’t even be a thing that registers in the morning, because it’s not real.

On the other hand, maybe he should take a look.

On the other other hand, unexpected, stressful situations are something he is trying to avoid. He’s still a beginner at this, and he isn’t ready to hop around the hemisphere again.

Bruce counts to ten, swears at himself and rolls out of bed, begrudgingly pulling on sweatpants and a light hoodie, grumbling about what an idiot he is as he ties his hiking boots, grabs a flashlight, and steps outside into the cool, crisp air, with low humidity, and no smell of ozone.

He has to hit the flashlight to get the batteries to align properly before it’ll work. The initial sweep of his front step yields nothing, so he steps out into the tall grass. Still nothing. He looks up. There are no storm clouds, no explanation for the thunder and lightning at all.

Bruce steps out further; the least he can do is a general sweep of the perimeter of his cabin. That should at least justify his decision to get out and look around. After all, if it turns out something is wrong, better he finds out sooner rather than later, right?

“Stupid, Banner,” he mutters to himself as he keeps his head up, eyes forward, flashlight swinging back and forth to reveal nothing but still grass. “Should have just stayed in— Ahhh!”

He falls to the ground, yelling out in surprise as something from within the grass grabs at his ankle. Bruce wrenches himself free, relieved that aside from his pride and maybe his ass nothing is bruised, that there was no sharp pain of puncture wounds. He’s okay, except.

Bruce whirls the flashlight in the direction he just pried his ankle free from. A man lies there, softly groaning, his eyes screwing shut as the light falls on his face.

“What the hell?” Bruce mutters to himself. Another groan. “Hey, are you okay? What are you doing out here?”

In response, a louder groan as the man plants his hands on the ground in front of him, trying to hoist himself up. He fails and falls back down with a shuddering breath, panting with exertion. “Hey, whoa, whoa,” Bruce says, scrambling forward, pretty confident there’s no threat, now. “Easy.”

Bruce looks back up at the sky; nary a cloud in sight, no indication of where the thunder or lightning would have come from. He looks back down and, flashlight held askew so as to not get in anyone’s eyes again, he sees that the man is much bigger than he is, someone he’d have a lot of problems lifting up on his own. He looks back towards his cabin, no more than a couple hundred metres away, and looks back down at the man. “Can you get up on your own? But slowly,” he says.

The man just grunts, like he’s offended, but is able to slowly lift himself up into a sitting position. “Yeah, there you go,” Bruce says, taking him in. No obvious injuries, which is good. “What are you doing out here?”

“Hammer,” is all the man says in response, with an accent that’s definitely not western Canadian.

“I bet you’re hammered,” Bruce says.

The man’s eyes come into too sharp a focus at that. “No,” he growls, “ _my_ hammer.”

“Your hammer,” Bruce repeats, dubiously.

“I have to find it,” the man says between breaths, slowly bringing up one knee, then the other, as he works to hoist himself up. He nearly stumbles on standing, and Bruce has to catch him with his shoulders to make sure he doesn’t fall.

“Not with you like this, not at this time of night, you won’t,” Bruce says. “Come on, my place is just over there,” he gestures, the man’s eyes following his arm’s sweeping movement towards the cabin. “Let’s at least get you there first before you go off on any quests in the middle of the night.”

The man hesitates, like he wants to argue, but quickly concedes, especially noting as how Bruce is the only thing holding him up at the moment. “Very well,” he says. “Lead the way.”

Bruce does, slowly, cursing at himself internally. What the hell is he doing, inviting a stranger into his abode? He has the worst damn survival instincts.

* * *

Bruce’s eyes flutter open as sunlight and dust motes dance across his bedroom. The natural wakeup helps him, he finds; he only sets an alarm in case of emergencies, and he hasn’t had one of those since he got here. This is probably the most peaceful existence he’s had in his entire life, even with being hunted down by the U.S. government and living with the uncertainty of a rage monster inside him.

He stretches, feeling more relaxed than normal, before sitting up, feet dangling over the side of the bed. The other guy is huge, but his frame is relatively compact, which is great, because it means he doesn’t need to rely on material goods so much. They’re luxuries he’ll probably never be able to afford again.

Bruce wanders out of the bedroom, blissfully still half-asleep. Makes his way to the kitchen, gets ready to decide what will be for breakfast. He tries to go for a run and meditate a little before eating, but it’s good to know what he… has…

Whirls around, floorboards softly creaking under his feet, at catching sight of a strange man passed out on his couch, half draped off of it because he’s so huge.

Whaaaat the fuck.

The previous hours come back to him in a flash: a storm with no source, a man lying near unconscious just outside his property, and his stupid good heart telling him to bring him in, and now he’s got some random guy who looks like he could eat him for breakfast lying on his couch.

So, no run to start the morning.

Bruce tip toes over to peer. There are no visible signs of bruising, no signs of injuries whatsoever. Just someone stupidly good looking and very much completely out of it that he’ll be stuck with, at least until he wakes up.

Bruce sighs and pads back to the kitchen. Breakfast for two to start the day, then.

He’s watching over eggs cooking when that strange, rumbling voice speaks up a good several minutes later. “What is this place?”

“My house,” Bruce answers, turning around, leaning against the countertop. The man is sitting up, now, so that his piercing blue eyes can meet Bruce’s dark brown ones, but he doesn’t seem to be in a rush to leave.

“And who are you?” the man asks.

Bruce shakes his head. “No,” he says, “no, I think it’s my turn to ask you a question.” He pauses. “Who are you?”

The man squints at him, like he can’t tell if he’s serious. Bruce squares his jaw - at least, he thinks he does - and levels back an unflinching gaze. The man returns it, then shrugs. “I am Thor,” he says, “son of Odin.”

It takes every fibre of Bruce’s conviction to not bark out a laugh then and there. “Like the Norse god,” he says, flatly.

Thor, son of Odin, cocks his head at him. “I am a god, yes.”

“Oh dear god,” Bruce mutters to himself when he realizes the guy is being serious.

“Yes?” Thor asks.

“No,” Bruce takes back his sentence immediately. He turns the stove off; he’s going to fuck up the food if he neglects it any further. “Not you. It’s just an expression.”

“I… see,” Thor says, in a tone that indicates he clearly has no idea what Bruce is talking about. Bruce isn’t entirely too sure, either; he’s just a little more aware now that he has a crazy person who could probably beat him up casually sitting on his couch.

Could beat him up easily, but not the other guy. Who he really does not want to see right now.

The toaster dings. His heart skips a beat.

Thor sits up straighter, cocking his head to the side slightly. “What was that?” he asks. At least, for a crazy person, he seems remarkably relaxed.

“That,” Bruce says, pulling himself back together, “is breakfast.”

* * *

Thor doesn’t look like the kind of guy who can sustain himself on the kind of diet Bruce is currently on. That much becomes readily apparent when he glares at Bruce for offering him tea with his eggs and toast.

“Do I look like the kind of man who drinks tea?”

Bruce looks up, looks over, looks at all of the muscles. “No, I guess not,” he says. He prepares his own cup, gives Thor a glass of water instead. Thor looks at him like it’s a joke, but accepts it anyway.

The food is bland, because Bruce has little care for luxuries right now, and even less money for them. Living in comfort isn’t part of the plan; if that’s what he meant to do, then he… Well, he’ll probably never get that chance again, anyway. It’s fine. He’s fine.

It’s incredibly awkward, as well, sitting across a small table from a huge man he does not know, who is just staring at him as he slowly chews his food. “Other than your house,” Thor begins, and Bruce nearly chokes, “where, exactly, am I?”

“Just outside a small town not too far from British Columbia’s coast,” Bruce says. Thor just looks at him. “Of course, that means nothing to you, does it?”

“Should it?”

“You’re here, so yes. It should,” Bruce says. “How did you get here, if you don’t even know where you are? Was it that weird storm last night?”

Thor’s eyes darken. “I do not wish to discuss the reason for my circumstances,” he says. “I merely wish to retrieve my hammer and make my way back to Asgard, where I can right my wrongs and take my place on the throne.”

“Let me guess,” Bruce says, “Mjolnir?”

“Yes!” Thor beams, brightening up as quickly as he had soured. “You have heard of me!”

“Yes,” Bruce says, “I mean, no, but— You know this isn’t— You aren’t—“

Thor just smiles at him as he finishes off the last of his breakfast. “I never did catch your name.”

“Uh,” Bruce says. “It’s Bruce. Bruce Banner.” There’s probably no harm in telling him his name, right? Someone claiming to be a Norse god doesn’t seem like the kind of tactic Ross would use to fish him out. He’s just inadvertently helping a mentally unstable man, which is totally cool.

“Banner,” Thor smiles at him. “I thank you for your hospitality, but now, I truly must find Mjolnir. Asgard may be in danger.” And just like that, he rises from the table and strides towards the door, as though on a mission. He does turn back to face Bruce as he opens the door, though, the sunny day outside providing a spectacular backlight. “I bid you farewell.” And with that, he’s gone.

Bruce just blinks as he sits back in his chair. What the hell just happened?

* * *

It’s odd, but ultimately, non-disruptive towards his day. So Bruce finishes his own breakfast, does the dishes, and takes a look outside. There’s no sign anywhere to be seen of a man wandering about the outskirts of his property. He does his morning meditations, then looks back outside. Still no sign. Prepares a salad for lunch, then eats it as he roams the corners of the cabin, peering out each of his windows. No signs of anybody.

Thor probably wasn’t a government agent. Probably. This will just be a blip on the radar of his life.

It isn’t even close to the strangest thing he’s ever experienced, so he at least has that going for him.

Bruce decides it’s safe to go for a run. It is. He returns home as the sun is beginning to set, and all in all, he finds he’s had a fulfilling day. He spends the night reading over old medical texts he managed to pick up in the townsite; he’s not an expert on medicine, but he is an accomplished scientist with leanings towards the overarching field that is biology, and he might as well learn a new skill while he’s isolated himself from humanity. Maybe it could be useful, at some point. He goes to bed, not even thinking about strange claps of thunder or non-existent storms or Norse gods, as content as he can possibly be at this stage of his life.

* * *

A week later there’s a knock on his door. Occasionally that happens; the townsfolk know he’s weird, but it’s not as though he’s ever presented himself as a danger. Sometimes people get lost trying to find their way back along the river or whatnot, and he’s happy to help.

Bruce opens his door to find Thor standing on his front step, sheepish, the rising sun providing a soft glow of a backlight, as though he had never left. “Banner,” he says, smiling, but also looking worse for the wear, “I apologize, but I may require your assistance.”

Okay. So definitely not a government agent. But definitely still a crazy person.

Bruce opens his door wider. “Come on in,” he says, resigned. “Would you like some breakfast?”

* * *

It turns out Thor had attempted to live off the land as he blindly marched out in search of Mjolnir, “but in this form, I am lacking the strength I am used to,” he says, as if that’s supposed to make perfect sense to Bruce. He nods as though it does.

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” Bruce says. He aimlessly spins his increasingly soggy cereal around the bowl with his spoon. “How far did you make it?”

“I, uh,” Thor says, very much embarrassed, which is quite a sight to see, “am unsure. In my haste I failed to recognize I do not know this area. I found the townsite, but nobody there knew what I was talking about.”

“Imagine that,” Bruce mutters under his breath.

Thor continues as though he didn’t hear him. “The people there barely know of you, it seems. Why are you out here on your own?”

Bruce bristles. “You know how you didn’t want to talk about how you ended up here? Same deal for me,” he says. Thor may not be working for Ross, but that doesn’t mean Bruce is about to give him his life’s story.

Thor eyes him, but shrugs. “Fair enough,” he says. “Anyway, while some kind souls allowed me to look over a map, they also told me that you may be my best hope, as you live out here and know this area better than most. As I landed out here, Mjolnir surely cannot be too far away, but I have searched the valleys and riverbanks and could not find it.”

Bruce continues to stir his cereal, still not sure if he should be playing along. “I can give you a map,” he says, “and you can mark off where you’ve been, if that will help.”

“Thank you, Banner, I think it will,” Thor says. “I fear my hammer may be lost in the mountains, however, if I cannot find it in the valleys, and if the townspeople are unaware of it. Are you familiar with the mountains? Would you be able to assist me in my search there?”

Bruce freezes. “Uh,” he says. “I don’t— I don’t think so. I don’t like mountains.” Is this guy seriously planning to hike across British Columbia because he thinks he’s literally Thor and he has to find his hammer to prove it? Was that what he was thinking when he left a week ago with no warning?

What the hell was that not-a-storm, anyway?

Thor cocks his head. “Why not? They’re beautiful. I may be unfamiliar with this world, but I must admit, it is a rather stunning location.”

“Yeah,” Bruce says. The Canadian wilderness probably wouldn’t have been his first choice - he just woke up here - but there are definitely worse places, worse ways, to live. “I just had a bad experience in the mountains. I don’t really want to go back.”

“Were you harmed?” Thor asks. “You look well, physically.”

“Thanks. Um, kind of. But I’m fine now.” At least, Bruce thinks he’s fine. Or he hopes he is. “It’s not a— It was just a bad experience.

“You don’t really think you’re going to find your hammer up there, though, do you?” Bruce asks, switching gears. Get the subject back on Thor, because he’s still a very strange person who has apparently decided they’re friends of some sort now.

“Of course I am,” Thor says in a tone that suggests his mind cannot possibly be changed. “Mjolnir must be nearby, if I am here, then there is no other possible place it could be. You must know that only the worthy can lift it, so there it will stay until I able to retrieve it.”

Bruce blinks. “Right,” he says. “But don’t you have, you know, anything else to do? Like a family to get back to? Friends?”

“Yes,” Thor says, slowly, as though explaining a very simple concept to a child, “which is exactly why I’m trying to get to Mjolnir as soon as possible, so I may reunite with them.”

“What?”

Thor’s eyes narrow. “I’m starting to get the sense you do not know as much as I initially estimated you to.”

Bruce is going to get a headache. “Because you’re— you’re living in a fantasy land. You know that, right? Mjolnir isn’t real, Thor is a myth, none of this— I don’t know what happened to you but something’s not right here and someone out there has to be looking for you.”

Across the table, Thor’s expression darkens. “Is that truly what you think? That I could not possibly be who I say I am? That I am unwell, or some kind of charlatan? Is this truly the state Midgard is now in? Have you seen absolutely nothing fantastical?”

“N—“ Bruce starts before cutting himself off.

Because yes. He, himself, is proof of something fantastical. By all counts, he should be dead, poisoned by gamma radiation, instead of… this. Where he is now. Whatever he is now. If he hadn’t done this to himself, then maybe he’d have a leg to stand on to dismiss this man’s claims, but then, if he hadn’t done this to himself, he wouldn’t be here at all to begin with.

“Yes,” Bruce says, because the seed of doubt has been planted firmly in his mind. “Okay, yes, I have seen things that defy the laws of physics. I— it’s hard to believe, but I concede, you could be telling the truth.”

Thor levels him a gaze so serious Bruce is starting to get convinced this man really could be a god. “You will assist me, then?”

“I told you, I don’t like mountains.”

“Is that where you first saw something out of the ordinary? Because rest assured, once I am reunited with Mjolnir, I would easily be able to protect you from harm.” Thor worries at his lip a little as Bruce appears to shut down, non-responsive. “I would be in your debt,” he prods. “It would be an honour for me to aid someone of your stature.”

Bruce looks up at the earnest face. It hasn’t been much, but he’s only ever seen Thor confident. It’s that lost puppy look that’s getting him now. Crazy or not, he’s genuinely afraid of not reuniting with this hammer. Bruce recognizes it as the same fear he sees every morning in the mirror: that he’s weak, that he’s a burden, that he’ll let down absolutely everybody, that he has no hope for redemption.

He really is an idiot.

* * *

“You know how to fly one of these things?” Bruce asks. They’re in the midst of commandeering a helicopter. Well, stealing one. In the middle of the night. Bruce had convinced Thor to hold off for the day, that flying would be their best bet considering the number of mountains in the area, and that they’d probably have to just take one themselves because nobody in their right mind would let them just go off on their own.

Right mind: a thing Bruce is, apparently, not in at the moment.

Thor looks over the controls. “Not this specifically, but Midgard’s technology is quaint. I’m sure I can figure it out rather quickly!”

Bruce just stares over the control board. Yeah, he has seven PhDs, but he’s definitely never learned how to fly any kind of aircraft. So… he’s going to die crashing into a mountainside with someone who believes he’s the god of thunder and also believes he can fly a helicopter on his first try.

There have to be worse ways to go, surely?

“You’d better hope you do, or we’re both toast,” Bruce says. He climbs into the co-pilot’s seat, throwing his backpack of supplies in the back, on top of the extra fuel he’s already loaded in, and unfurling the marked map he’s got with him to guide them. There’s another map, as well, one with a more detailed focus on the mountain ranges. It’s more of a sporting map, but it carries pertinent information all the same.

Thor raises his eyebrows at him. “We’re both that burnt bread you insist on eating?”

“It’s an expression,” Bruce says. “I’m saying if you don’t know what you’re doing we’re both going to die.”

“Oh,” Thor says as he launches the helicopter into the air. “Well, let us hope it doesn't come to that.”

* * *

The good news is that, as it turns out, Thor is a remarkably quick study - if he isn’t already a helicopter pilot with amnesia, which is equally as likely, for all Bruce is concerned - and is able to get them up in the air with no problems. The even better news is that, once they’re up there, it truly is a sight to behold.

The bad news is that, enamoured by the immediate snow-covered mountains, Thor insists on going northwest, flying over the town in the middle of the night.

“Banner, please,” Thor says, “we won’t wake them.”

“You don’t know that,” Bruce hisses, effectively overruled by virtue of not knowing how to fly a helicopter.

The good news is that Thor is able to safely land them when the time comes. The even better news is that Bruce’s foresight to bring extra fuel is paying off, so they aren’t stranded.

The bad news is that there’s absolutely no sign of a mythical hammer having crashed down on the landscape anywhere, and Thor is starting to freak out.

“I mean,” Bruce says, from the safe confines of a helicopter planted firmly on the ground, “you didn’t—“

Thor whirls on him, nostrils flaring, cutting him off. “If you are again going to tell me that Mjolnir is not real and that I am a fool I will leave you here.”

“… This is a big area with a lot of mountains and we could easily miss it,” Bruce saves himself.

Thor shakes his head. “No,” he says, “we will know it when we see it. Mjolnir is not exactly a subtle weapon. We have simply gone the wrong way.”

“Okay,” Bruce says, ignoring his growling stomach and the crick in his neck that comes from sleeping in a helicopter for three days. He unfurls his sporting map and focuses on the right side, as of yet uncharted territory for them.

Almost wants to slam his head into something when he sees it.

“Hey Thor,” Bruce says, blindly grabbing at Thor’s arm while his eyes remain fixated on the map, “how big a believer are you in symbolism?”

Thor leans over his side of the helicopter, following Bruce’s eyes, looking at where his finger is pointed.

His smile lights up his entire face when he sees it, and as he quickly takes them off with a new enthusiasm, Bruce finds himself really, really hoping this is real, because things might get really, really bad if this doesn’t work out the way Thor is expecting.

* * *

On the east side of Thunder Mountain is an unnaturally large crater.

If Thor was happy before, he’s practically glowing now. And Bruce has to admit, he was right: even from their altitude, it’s unmistakeable.

In the grand scheme of things - when said scheme involves people and items crash landing from space, as is looking increasingly plausible by the second - Bruce’s home isn’t too far away from Thunder Mountain. It’s just that, well, it would be a difficult terrain for anybody to navigate, let alone a disoriented man completely unfamiliar with the area. But his instincts had been correct: Mjolnir had been nearby the entire time, completely untouched in the wilderness.

Soft snow floats up to greet them as Thor directs the helicopter down into the crater, moonlight making it look even more ethereal. The tree line is still rather far back, and it’s quiet; not even any animals seem to have approached the crater.

Once the blades stop it’s deathly quiet, just the two of them staring out the front viewport, about halfway from the handle Bruce can see sticking up from the ground, and halfway from the crater’s edge.

Thor jumps out of the helicopter, disturbing the snow as he rushes his way towards the hammer resting in it. He leaves footprints, but it isn’t too deep. Bruce gathers his coat around himself and gingerly steps out, following him at a much slower pace.

When Thor reaches the handle he smiles down at it, reaches with his hand to pull it up, and… Bruce wasn’t sure what he was expecting, exactly, but it wasn’t someone so powerful-looking being reduced to grabbing at it with two hands and then falling over backwards as the hammer stays firmly in place.

He rushes over to Thor at that, looking down at the bewildered and flustered man sitting in the snow. “What happened?” he asks. “Is that it?”

Thor looks up at Bruce, then down at his hands, then at the hammer, still sitting in the snow, that hasn’t budged. He reaches out with his hand, as though expecting the hammer to leap into it; nothing. Looks back at his hands.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Thor says. “This isn’t— This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”

Bruce looks at the handle sticking up from the snow. “May I?” he asks, gesturing towards it.

Thor scoffs but waves him on.

Bruce makes his way to the handle. It just looks like an ordinary hammer. He wraps his hands around it and pulls.

And pulls.

And maybe even cheats a little, feeling muscles surging in his arms and catching a green tinge to his hands as he pulls even harder, a deep growl coming from his throat, before he, too, ends up doing a backwards somersault from the exertion.

Bruce sits in the snow, staring at the offending handle. “That’s not possible,” he says.

“Well, for you, it shouldn’t be,” Thor says, quietly. “But for me…”

“No,” Bruce says, shaking his head. He gets back up, circling the immediate impact site. “That’s physically not possible.”

“Whosoever holds this hammer,” says Thor, “if he be worthy…” And then he trails off. When Bruce looks back, he sees him staring down at the snow, hair fallen across his face, tears pricking at the edges of his eyes.

Bruce goes to sit back next to him. It’s still completely silent. No wind, no signs of nearby life, just still rock and snowscape lit by a waning moon, and the two of them sitting in the snow in front of a hammer neither can lift.

Eventually, he clears his throat. “So how is it you ended up here…?” Bruce asks.

Thor closes his eyes. “I was banished,” he says. “From Asgard. The Frost Giants— they invaded, they made an attempt— I was to be coronated king, and they interrupted that, so I went to wage war. As one does when one is under attack.” His voice lowers at that point, nearly growling. “We had to send a message, we had to defend our home, and my father, Odin, the All-Father, did not agree with my methods. He called me… arrogant, and stupid, and unworthy.” His voice softens at that point, trails off into the silence of the air. “And now I know not what to do.”

Bruce grasps at his own hands, fingers folding over one another, feeling Thor’s words pass over him. It’s becoming increasingly clear he is not unstable, that he knows exactly what he is talking about, maybe even that Bruce was right to go with his gut instinct to try to help him.

It’s cold, both in the literal sense and the feeling of numbness that can only accompany one by disassociating. This feeling is all too familiar to him, especially given the location. He feels both clear and not as the frost creeps at his extremities, at how he can so easily ignore it, because there’s nothing left inside to acknowledge any sort of feeling.

He’d fled to mountains - not these ones - because he’d gotten tired. He’d lost any hope for a cure, he’d lost any hope for a life of any kind with Betty, he’d lost everything but the feel of the gun barrel pressing up to the roof of his mouth, and then he’d lost that, too. His instincts to travel to the most isolated place he could think of had been correct, at least, not that he’d ever know if he’d killed anyone in the aftermath of that particular rampage - just that he’d woken up in the British Columbian wilderness.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says, because it’s the only thing he can think to say. He’s in no position to give counsel. But maybe he’d have liked to have heard those words at some point, too.

Thor looks back at him; they’re so close Bruce can see the frost starting to decorate his eyelashes. The tears are still there; he has none. “Are you alright?” Thor asks.

Bruce inhales, deeply, trying to fill himself with something, even if it’s just cool air. “I told you I don’t like mountains,” he says, as if that’s explanation enough. Maybe it is.

Thor just nods. “How is it you found yourself all alone, though?”

“You said you were called arrogant?” Bruce huffs a laugh into the cold. “That was me. I was working on this… program, for gamma radiation. And I was so sure I tested it on myself, which, who does that? Seriously, who? I violated every proper procedure I damn well knew about because I thought I had it, and now I’m… I’m just dangerous. I’m not safe to be around. And I have nobody but myself to blame.”

“You don’t seem dangerous, to me,” Thor says.

Bruce shakes his head. “Not now. But whenever my heart rate goes up - so whenever I get excited, or angry, especially angry - I… It’s hard to explain. But I go away. And there’s a monster inside me, and he’s too strong, and he comes out, and he kills people. And I don’t want that. I don’t want to hurt anybody, but because of my own stupidity, I’ve hurt so many. If I could take it back…”

He’s surprised, then, when Thor pulls him in with one of those big, somehow not technically godly arms. He’s even more surprised when he finds himself leaning in on the bigger man, allowing for a hint of warmth to creep back into his bones.

“I wish I could take it back,” Bruce says quietly.

“I do not regret my actions,” Thor says, “but that Mjolnir has rejected me… I do not know what to think.”

It stays quiet.

“What will you do?” Bruce asks. “If you can’t lift Mjolnir, I mean? Surely you won’t wait here?”

“I have no wish to die so senselessly,” Thor says. “But… I do not know what else I can do. I wish to protect my people; banished, I cannot get to my people. Here, I am without kin, without home. I do not know which is worse: me, to be so isolated beyond my control; or you, to be isolated even with the prospect of hope.”

“Hope?” Bruce asks.

“This is still your world. Anyone you love is still within reach. For me…”

Bruce sighs. “They’re both shitty options.”

“But surely you had some sort of plan?” Thor asks. “Surely you were not intending to live out your life as a hermit, tucked away from all society? Surely you have had more recent interactions with people other than myself?”

“I don’t— I don’t know,” Bruce says. “I don’t think so. I wanted to… see if I could get this under control, I guess. But I’m a wanted man, in my country. I’ll remain on the run. I can never have a normal life. I just thought maybe, I’d stay here, and eventually, things would work themselves out.”

“And they have not,” Thor says.

“And they have not,” Bruce repeats.

“It seems to me,” Thor says, “that there was more to it than Mjolnir landing at Thunder Mountain. That maybe, there was a reason I landed on your doorstep, as well.”

Bruce hums. “It’s a nice thought, at least.”

“It’s more than that,” Thor insists. “What good are two outcasts going their separate ways? It’s a sure path to madness.”

Bruce looks up at Thor. Thor is still staring at the hammer, a steadfast determination in his eyes, even after his failure. And Bruce realizes that this is the most he’s talked to anyone since his failed attempt at a cure, and even though he’d been living relatively peacefully, really, what was the point?

“You’re going to come back one day, aren’t you?” Bruce asks.

“Aye,” Thor says. “It may not be time now, but one day, it will be.”

“How do you know?”

“Because there is no other option. Nothing is permanent. And one day, my wrongs will be righted.”

Bruce stares out. Blinks, recalling how he was able to call upon that strength inside of him - even for such a trivial attempt at show - and recognizes that he should maybe try to carry the same optimism. There’s some hope, if he’s been able to call on that presence without outright unleashing it.

And righting wrongs… He can’t bring back the dead, but he is very smart, can surely put his knowledge to some good. Not in the field of gamma radiation, that’s part of his life he doesn’t want to look back on at all, but he does have a basic understanding of biology. And he has been learning, he has those medical texts at home. If he can give anyone else their life back, surely, that must at least be a start towards balancing the scales?

“I have an idea,” Bruce says. He looks up at Thor; Thor looks down at him. “If you’re up to travelling the world, that is. Or more like being on the run all the time. I am a known fugitive, after all.”

“And I am not of this world!” Thor beams. “A fine pair we shall make.”

As they rise to take their leave, Thor looks back over his shoulder. Bruce notices. “Are you sure your hammer will still be here?”

Thor nods. “Mjolnir is not mine, at the moment. Not anybody’s. Which means it will wait - and I will be ready.”

* * *

When he’s done screwing with Romanoff, Bruce puts his hands back down on the table. “I have two conditions,” he says.

Romanoff cocks her head at him, silently urging him to continue.

“One,” Bruce says, “is that my friend joins us.”

“Who is he, anyway?” Romanoff asks. “We have no record of him.”

Bruce smiles at her. “You wouldn’t, but he’s a good guy. Better than I think even he thought he was capable of being. And two - wherever we’re going, we have to make a stop in Canada first.”

She raises her eyebrows. “And what’s there?”

“Just something my friend needs to pick up. It’s probably time.”


End file.
